The Grey Rain of Berlin
by oro-oro
Summary: Spying isn't as fun or luxurious as James Bond makes it look. A Cold War spy fic, with Arthur, AKA England, as the protagonist. Brief FRUK, some USUK. Be prepared for violence, yaoi and general  angstiness all around. Human names used. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: This fic is something I'm working on while I try to get past the slight writer's block I have on "Bitter Heart". Don't worry, that'll be updated on the weekend or maybe early next week. :D I was inspired by "The Spy Who Came in From the Cold", a novel by John le Carré that I read a while back. I don't think there are many England spy fics, so I thought I'd make one. :D The setting is Cold War Berlin. Anyway, here's the first (really short) chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I only own the laptop I'm writing this on.

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><p>A nearly imperceptible sigh passed the lips of the blonde man. He crumpled the small piece of parchment and, pulling out a lighter, set it on fire. Holding a corner, he let it burn until the flames almost reached his fingertips, then dropped the remainder in the toilet. He flushed the note. The man washed his hands in the porcelain hotel sink, then ran his fingers through his hair. Another Code Grey.<p>

He finished dressing, a white collared shirt and slightly rumpled khakis. He wore black loafers, but no penny. Quietly, he opened the bathroom door and walked into the dark room. It was still night time. Sidling to the nightstand of the King sized bed, he opened the top drawer and pulled out something dark and metallic. A gun. He walked over to the sleeping body and pointed the gun at the man's forehead. "Sorry, Francis…" he whispered. His finger moved to the trigger.

"Wait," came a hoarse whisper. The previously sleeping man brushed his long golden locks from his face, tucking hair behind his ears. He sat up in the bed, grabbed the gunman by the shoulder and pressed their lips together. The standing man did not move. He showed no surprise, no joy, no sadness. His lips simply danced along with his mark's, allowing entrance when requested by the other's tongue. After a minute, the long haired man released him. "Don't ruin my pretty face." Blue eyes stared into green sadly, but understanding. The green eyed man closed his eyes briefly, then he pointed the gun at the other man's chest.

"It won't be quick."

"I know." Francis smiled.

"It will hurt."

"I understand, _mon cheri_."

After a moment's hesitation, the man touched the barrel to Francis' chest. He bent over and kissed him gently. "I'm sorry," he whispered once again and pulled the trigger. Francis gasped, his body shaking with the impact of the bullet. He brought a trembling hand up to his chest, touched the wound, and looked at the blood on his fingers with wide-eyed fascination.

Arthur stood up straight, his fingers caressing Francis' cheek one last time, then turned and left the French man quivering on the bed.

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><p>"The target has been erased." Arthur's voice echoed in the small, cold room. His handler sat across the table from him, hands folded.<p>

"Good. Any trouble?"

"None to speak of."

"You weren't… attached to the target?"

"My personal feelings never impede my work."

"Just making sure. I wouldn't want my best asset to be lost to heart-break." Arthur could hear amusement in his handler's voice.

"Of course not, sir. May I leave now?" Arthur asked curtly, annoyed for some reason.

"Yes. Stay at Yellow house. I'll have someone follow up for debriefing later."

"Understood."

Arthur left the room, walking out of the drab building into the rain. He hadn't thought to grab an umbrella, but honestly, he didn't care.

The grey rain did an excellent job of covering the tears streaming down his cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Chapter 2! :D Ivan's in this one, as well as Matthew. I hope I got their characters right… Please review!

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><p>The sky was dark with clouds, the sun's creeping rays making their edges glow a soft blue. It was almost dawn. Arthur shuffled along the nearly deserted road, alone but for the occasional swooping crow. No one wanted to be out in the rain, especially not with this downpour. He kept his hands in his trouser pockets in a feeble attempt to keep warm. He had left his jacket in the hotel with Francis. <em>The cleanup team will get it…and probably burn it with the rest of my belongings…<em> mused Arthur. He smiled a small, feeble grin. Francis had picked it out for him, worried that he might "etre grippe".

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, evolving into a mirthless guffaw, Arthur doubling over with laughter. Worried that he might get a cold? In East Berlin, where it was a miracle to simply survive? _Oh Francis… you were always so… so naive…thoughtful, but naïve._

Arthur fell to his knees, arms still crossed over his stomach, the laughter morphing into choked sobs. _Why didn't you run away? You must have known I would get the order!_ _Damn it, Francis!_

He knelt there, weeping for who knows how long, when a tall, tan-scarfed man walked towards him and paused. "How does your garden grow?" he asked, his voice soft, like a child's. He extended his black umbrella over the Englishman's head. Arthur looked up blankly at him, then remembered what he was supposed to say. "With… with silver bells and cockle shells and little maids all in a row." His voice came out slightly strained.

The man smiled. "I am from Yellow House, see?" He gestured to his scarf, which had the emblem for the house sewn on. _"_Time to go inside, da? Before people start walking around and wondering why such -" he leaned down to pat Arthur on the head, beaming, "why such nice young man is crying in rain."

He held out his gloved hand to Arthur, who took it tentatively. _He must be a Soviet defector on our side, _he thought, noticing the up, using the man's arm as support, and suddenly embarrassed (_You let another operative see you cry! Idiot!_), Arthur turned his head and coughed, letting go of the hand. "I- I wasn't crying. I slipped in the rain and… " he coughed nervously again, his face slightly red. "I- I hurt my ankle."

"Da, da," said the man, smiling cheerfully. "Well, let me help you to house then." Without another word, he bent down and scooped Arthur into his arms, carrying him bridal style, somehow managing to keep the umbrella over the two of them.

"Gah! What the hell, you bloody-" Arthur struggled against the surprisingly strong man, who kept walking.

"Shh, we don't want to wake neighbors, da?" said the Russian quietly, walking quickly. Arthur stopped struggling for a bit, remembering that, no matter what, he was an English spy, and he couldn't afford to be compromised.

"Well… let me down at least!" he whispered angrily.

"But you are hurt," said the man, his violet eyes twinkling. "And we have almost arrived! You weren't very far away." Surprised, Arthur peered out from underneath the umbrella, looking around. Squinting to see past the rain, which had gotten worse as they travelled, Arthur spotted it, a brick townhouse disguised under the nondescript name of "Gelbes Gasthaus"- Yellow Inn.

"Oh. I didn't expect it to be quite so…"

"Literal? Bukvalʹnyĭ, we say in Russian." The man kept walking, stopping at the door. He let Arthur down, always keeping the umbrella over the blonde man. _He's getting all wet because of me._ "Pay attention to this; is only way our people recognize us, da?" He knocked twice, once loudly, once softly, then waited. A voice came from inside.

"I'm sorry, we have no vacancies." The voice was soft, but sounded stern.

"But I brought pirozhki and..." the man looked at Arthur appraisingly, "… pudding." Arthur stared at the Russian man._ Pudding? Why not scones or-_

"… very well."

Locks clicked and the door opened a crack, a chain still hooked. A single eye peered through. "You brought Kirkland then, Ivan?" The Russian, Ivan apparently, simply nodded, and with one hand, plunked Arthur in front of the door. The blue eye looked intently, then the door closed. A chain rattled, and the door opened again. The man stayed hidden, and ushered the pair in with one hand. "Quickly, quickly. Don't want… rain getting in, if you know what I mean."

The Russian pushed Arthur in in front of him, then quickly closed his umbrella and walked in himself. He locked the door behind him, a complicated procedure involving several catches and bolts.

Arthur looked around the house, his eyes settling on the back of an ashy blonde-haired man dressed in a hooded jacket. A single curly hair stuck up from the otherwise sleek hairstyle. Arthur's training made him notice everything about the man, from the way he walked to the way he carried himself, everything. The man, feeling apprehensive due to the staring, turned around, smiling as he did. "I should introduce myself. I'm Matthew- my code is maple. I'm the caretaker of this facility." Combined with the man's face and voice, Arthur came to the conclusion that this man, Canadian perhaps, was a gentle fellow, intelligent, and a pacifist. _Interesting combination for a spy._

"I'm Arthur. Pudding is my code name, apparently." He glared at Ivan, who shrugged.

"Was first thing come to mind." He smiled again. "Sorry." Arthur kept glaring, but a smile started tugging at his lips. The Russian's cheerfulness was infectious.

"Whatever." He turned to Matthew. "You wouldn't happen to have any tea would you? I'm absolutely freezing."

"Of course. I heard you were an Englishman, so I assumed you'd like tea. We had a French man here before," said Matthew thoughtfully, searching through the cabinets in the small kitchen. "Absolutely refused to drink the stuff. Anyway, Earl Grey?"

"…Sure." Matthew turned back to look at Arthur. He had gone awfully quiet, and was looking at his feet for some reason.

"Are you o-"

"I show you to room, da?" interrupted Ivan. We don't want you to get sick because of wet clothes." Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the sullen Englishman by the arm and dragged him upstairs. "Have tea ready, Pozhaluĭsta!" he told Matthew.

"O-okay."

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><p>"Here is clothes, shoes, towels," said the Ivan, pointing at the closet and different drawers. He pulled out a locked box from one of the drawers. "This is from APIA. You have key, da?"<p>

"Yeah." Arthur stood shivering, his drenched clothes chilling him to the bone.

"I leave you alone now. Bathroom is over there," said Ivan pointing out the door. "Two doors to left." He turned to leave, walking to the door. "Oh, also. I don't know exactly what happened in your past, but…" He turned back again with a sad smile. "I am sorry for your loss." He left the room. Arthur stared at the closed door, bemused.

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><p><strong>AN: **Aw, Ivan's such a sweetie. :DAnd Arthur is just as tsundere as ever, even when he's depressed. XD

I got the names for their "codes" from their version of the Marukaite Chikyuu. (Anyone who caught it is just as obsessed as me. XD) Canada doesn't have his own song yet, so I went with maple. It would've been pancakes, but then they'd all have P's.

I wanted some humor in this chapter as well, since it can't ALL be depressing. Though it seemed a bit light hearted to me considering that they are spies and in danger all the time.

I am trying really hard to write this with an English accent in my mind so that it looks to be from Arthur's POV. If any British readers want to help this silly American out, please do! :) I hope it sounds okay so far.

The nursery rhyme Arthur recited was "Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary", a traditional English rhyme.

So APIA is the spy group that they all work for. It stands for Allied Powers Intelligence Agency, which explains why there are different nationalities working for it. However, each country has its own divisions and subdivisions. That's why Arthur has his own handler, who sends him to places and stuff. The APIA has a central board that has the last say on things, though, so the handlers can be overwritten.

Good so far? I hope so! Please review! :Ds


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**Sorry I haven't updated, guys. :( I got distracted drawing and stuff and I only updated my other fic recently. :P *smacks self* Bad author! Bad! Nice, long chapter to make up for it though! Anyway, we get to see Arthur all angsty here. Again. Well, enjoy anyway!

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><p>Arthur sighed as the hot water fell on his body, relishing the warmth it provided. Amazing really, that one could find hot water in East Berlin. No shampoo though- that was a pity. He'd have to make do with the bar of soap. Arthur worked the soap into a lather, rubbing it back and forth between his palms, then used the foam to wash his hair. He usually wouldn't bother, but the rain had made his hair stiffen, and he was not going to make a good first- strike that- second impression if he presented himself like a sloppy bum. Besides, he had no idea when he might have the luxury of a hot shower again. The case from APIA might have orders to get arrested and sent to prison after he was debriefed, where even finding running water would be incredible. He had no way of knowing his next assignment.<p>

Realizing that it he'd been in the shower for a pretty long time, Arthur decided to get out. With a sigh, he turned the knob for the water and slid back the curtain. He looked around for his towel- ah, there it was- and quickly dried off his head. He passed the surprisingly fluffy blue towel over his body, then wrapped it around his waist. He stepped out of the shower onto a cracked cement floor and made his way over to the steam coated mirror. Stooping over, he wiped a clear spot with his elbow and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to style it as best he could; it was all to no avail, really. His hair generally refused to cooperate, and this time was no exception- it stuck out in its usual odd angles. Dejected, Arthur stood up straight, holding his towel up, and exited the bathroom. He walked back to his room and rummaged through the drawers, searching for appropriate clothes. He felt something thin and made of flannel. Underwear? He tugged on it-

And pulled out a pair of boxers emblazoned with the Union Jack. In disgust, he threw the boxers to the floor. Every time! It was amusing the first few instances, but it was getting ridiculous now. Kicking them under the bed, he continued looking for clothes in the drawers and closet, and finally found something suitable: a green pullover and black slacks. As irritating as the underwear thing was, Arthur had to admit that APIA certainly knew how to provide good clothing for their people, when the situation required it. In fact, they had furnished a rather extensive wardrobe, ranging from high quality Italian suits to very realistic rags. A perfect outfit for every occasion.

Once dressed, Arthur turned to the locked box from APIA, containing his next mission. The box was indestructible, short of a nuclear blast, and could only be opened with two keys. One was in possession of Arthur's handler. The other stayed with Arthur. Arthur walked over to his discarded and sopping wet clothing from earlier and found the hem on the left leg of the pocket. Expertly, he undid the stitches and removed a tiny key. This one unlocked a special compartment in Arthur's pocket watch; a round gold piece, waterproof, unbreakable, the works; which held the real key he needed. He replaced the watch in his pocket, placing it next to his wallet. With the proper key in hand, Arthur unlocked the box and removed thin stack of papers. Testing the texture, Arthur found that they were made of a water soluble material. Good, no need to worry about burning these.

He began to read.

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><p>The sun was starting to rise now, a few of its orange rays pushing through the thick red curtains in the sitting room.<p>

"Um, Ivan… he's been out of the bath for a while, and I think the tea's getting cold."

Ivan looked away from his newspaper and glanced at the timid Canadian. "Well, then perhaps you should take it up to him. He might have fallen asleep- I don't think he got any rest last night." He smiled. "Also, you might get to know him. What is worst that could happen? If he is asleep, you can just leave tea for him for when he wakes up." Ivan sipped from his mug of coffee.

"You're right. And he didn't look very good earlier… I hope he isn't coming down with something. The tea might help." Matthew smiled. "I'll go check on him now."

Tea tray in hand, Matthew climbed up the stairs quietly, so as not to wake Arthur if he was asleep. He reached the door, hesitated for a moment, then tapped softly. Not hearing an answer, he pushed open the door gently, and stepped in. Arthur was kneeling at the foot of his bed, his head resting on crossed arms. Matthew began to back out of the room, but Arthur's voice stopped him.

"I'm awake." His voice cracked. Matthew looked on, confused by Arthur's tone. Suddenly, Arthur stood up, his sad? expression suddenly turning into a smile. "Ah, brought the tea, did you?" With a slightly trembling hand, Arthur reached for the tea. He took a sip. "Perfect. I love it straight." He turned towards Matthew. "You haven't made breakfast yet, have you? I'm absolutely famished."

Stuttering, puzzled by Arthur's odd mannerisms, Matthew said, "Uh, n-n-no, but I was about to make some pancakes. We weren't sure when you'd be coming in, so I held off on readying a meal. Do you want-"

"Pancakes would be wonderful, thanks," interrupted Arthur. "I'll be up here until the food's done. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. Feel free to wake me then." Smiling, Arthur walked towards Matthew until Matthew was forced to back-step out of the room. "Sorry for being such a bother. Please let me know when the food is done." Arthur closed the door, then suddenly opened it again. "Oh, and thanks for the tea." And the door shut.

Matthew stared at the wooden door, still holding the tea tray. A younger Matthew would have been off-put, but by now, he had housed enough spies to know that some were eccentric, some were quiet, and some were… broken. Maybe Arthur was one of those. Sadly, Matthew walked back to the kitchen and began making the batter for his pancakes.

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><p>Arthur leaned back on the door and slid down to the floor, tea still in quivering hand. He felt a twinge of guilt over shutting the Canadian boy out, but… his hands kept shaking, tea threatening to spill. Arthur began to inhale and exhale deeply, slowly. He wasn't shaking from sadness this time. It was shock.<p>

In the box, he had uncovered documents that showed that Francis wasn't a threat. He had not needed to be killed. What his handler has seen as possible betrayal was actually part of Francis' mission as a double agent- his handler had been misinformed. Arthur was furious. He hadn't needed to kill Francis. Last night didn't have to be their last. If his handler had only waited for Central, not even a whole day, at that!

Suddenly gasping for breath, Arthur clutched his chest. So this was what heartbreak felt like. Utter despair. At least before, he could partly blame Francis for defecting, for not running away. Arthur could convince himself that killing him had been necessary for the mission, to protect liberty and the will of the people. But now- it was stupidity. Sheer stupidity and brashness on the part of his handler that had made him kill Francis. And idiocy on his own part for carrying the orders through. He knew Francis loved his country, would never fall to the Communists. Why did he doubt him?

_Francis didn't have to die. Francis didn't have to die! I didn't have to kill him, take his last kiss with a bullet._At this, a dry, choked sob rattled Arthur's body. _Oh my God, why?_ He wanted more tears to come, for his pain to be washed away with salty drops, but they wouldn't come. Instead, he felt himself tense, his hands curl into fists. He was past grief at the moment. He could only feel anger towards his handler for his idiocy, towards APIA for their failure to communicate, and mostly, at himself for doubting Francis. Well, he would right this wrong. _I have business to attend to,_he thought as he stood up. He drank the last of the cold, bitter tea, and set the cup down on its saucer.

Arthur walked over to the bed, where the documents lay scattered and stuck them back in the case. No doubt APIA would appreciate his conserving of the documents for his replacement. He left the case clearly on his bed- they'd have enough searching to do for him later anyway. He strolled over to the closet and chose a nondescript trench coat and hat. Then, quietly opening an amply curtained window, he found some footing and stepped out, climbing down the wall. Luckily, it was still raining and the dark clouds provided excellent cover. About 5 feet from the ground, he leaped, avoiding a puddle, and then walked. As he left, he could smell something delicious. _Matthew's pancakes, I presume._ A pity he wouldn't taste them.

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><p>"These are delicious, Matthew," said Ivan, smiling once again as he chewed on a piece of the freshly made pancakes. "Though I do miss my <em>olad'yi<em>. Perhaps tomorrow, I make some for you? "

"That would be wonderful actually, but it might have to wait. I'm supposed to begin my next mission tomorrow. I could have started today, but I thought it would be nice to welcome Arthur. Oh, and my brother's coming in today, I think. I wanted to see him too. I'm going undercover, and I thought I might not get another chance for a while… " Matthew chewed on his maple-syrup coated pancake thoughtfully. "Well, infiltration is easy enough… I wonder if I'll need the… No, that didn't work last time…"

Ivan nodded along, well used to Matthew's muttering. It was how he planned his missions. He, on the other hand, preferred to go with his instinct, acting as he saw fit. It was one of the things that made him such a good spy. He was completely unpredictable. It also made him a bit of a black sheep, since APIA liked their spies in nice little rows.

The two sat eating silently but for the occasional murmur from Matthew, as was their custom, when Matthew stood up suddenly, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Arthur! I completely forgot! He told me to wake him up!" He put his fork down on the plate. "Excuse me Ivan, but Arthur's probably starving. I can't believe I forgot." Ivan nodded, continuing to eat happily.

Matthew almost ran up the stairs. "Arthur!" he called as he ascended and again when he got to the second floor. "Arthur!" He walked to the door and rapped it a few times with his knuckles. "Arthur, the food's done!"

No answer.

"Arthur?" _He didn't strike me as a heavy sleeper. How strange._ Matthew opened the door. "Ar- oh." Matthew glanced around the empty room, noticing the rain coming in from the window, which, judging by the huge puddle beneath it, had been open for quite a while. "Oh dear."

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><p>It was no longer raining, but it was still dark outside, the midday sun unable to pierce the layer of clouds. Arthur had walked to the highest point of a nearly deserted bridge and stared down at the black water. <em>One step. One step and I can be rid of this damned job, this world. I can be with Francis again. And even if I go to Hell, it can't be much worse than this.<em> Arthur began to hoist himself up the wall of the bridge. _I will be the last person I kill_. He had one foot on the ledge, when a stranger walked near him, stopped and stared blankly. Arthur glared back.

They stared at each other quietly for a while before Arthur sighed in exasperation and brought his leg down. This dolt was ruining his dramatic exit. "_Lass mich endlich in Ruhe_!" He growled in perfect German. All part of the job.

"_Sprichst du Englisch_?" The stranger asked in equally concise German. "_Ich ziehe es vor_."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but complied. "Yes. Do you need something?"

"Coffee," answered the stranger. The stranger stuck his hands in his pocket, making himself comfortable. "So, you gonna kill yourself?" _Ugh, American, obviously. Who else would tarnish the Queen's English so casually?_

"Well, yeah, what does it bloody look like? Now leave! I'd like to enjoy my final moments in peace."

"Well, I'm not stopping you. Go ahead." _Is this git egging me on?_

"Want a show of it, do you?" The stranger didn't respond, preferring to stare back impassively. "Well, you're not getting one." Arthur crossed his arms and sat on the ledge. _Great. I can't even kill myself properly._ "Now leave." The man shrugged and turned his back to Arthur. _Finally- wait._ The stranger sat down next to him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Sitting."

"I know that! Why can't you just leave?"

"But I'm not stopping you from killing yourself. I'm just sitting here. Go ahead and jump. I won't do anything." Arthur stared at the man, getting more irritated by the second. He gave his best glare, eyebrows furrowed, green eyes cold as ice. The American man peered up from his glasses, curious and completely unaffected.

"To hell with this!" Arthur jumped up and began walking away. The man got up and followed. Arthur turned his head. "Bugger off!"

"Just walking, dude."

"I am not a 'dude'. And can't you walk elsewhere?"

"Mmm, yeah, probably." The American continued walking behind Arthur. Exasperated, Arthur quickened his pace, spotting a crowded street. A market perhaps? Well, it would serve him well as an escape._Time to put those spy skills to use._

Arthur kept walking, slowing as he entered the crowd. He bent down and pretended to tie a shoelace, the American stopping behind him. Suddenly, he got up, aimed a kick at the American's stomach (hearing a very satisfying "Oof!") and ran deeper into the crowd. He took a left turn into an alley and climbed the wall quickly. There was no chance that the American could keep up. He ran a bit longer, then slowed to a walking pace.

He continued walking, unaware of where he was going, and ended up in a pub. _I need a drink anyway. And I guess I won't be able to jump off any bridges soon._ No, Arthur was a paranoid man, and wouldn't risk another incident like that. _Well, that's bloody great. Stupid American. How am I supposed to kill myself now?_

Arthur sat down at the bar, his stomach rumbling. _Damn, I forgot, I haven't eaten since dinner with Francis yesterday…_ Arthur felt his pocket and found his wallet. The ID inside described him as "Benjamin Weber", an accountant. _A rather wealthy accountant_, thought Arthur as he looked at the money inside. _Good._

"Oi, _Barkeeper_!" The bartender looked at him expectantly. "_Zwei Spiegeleier mit Brot, bitte_." The bartender nodded, and yelled at a cook somewhere.

"_Kaffee?_"

"_Nein. Ale."_

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><p>It was about 9 in the evening when Arthur finally stumbled out of the bar, drunk. He staggered back and forth, mumbling incoherently. "Francis… where- hic- are you?" The people around him wrinkled their noses in disgust, but continued on their way. "Yer like a tree. You lef'." Arthur laughed at his own joke, then started crying. "I killed you. Francis, why did I kill you?" Arthur kept walking, making his way towards the Berlin wall. "Francis… are you hidin' behin' dis wall? Come out Francis…" Arthur pounded on the wall. "Francis… please… come out… why did I kill you?" Arthur lumbered over to a checkpoint. "Eff I die, will I see you? I will, won' I?" Tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, Arthur sobered up for a second. "The guards'll shoot me if I run. Francis, I want to see you…"<p>

Arthur struggled to climb the wall, slipping a few times. He almost reached the top, a hand stretching out, caught by a spotlight.

A machine gun fired, blowing dust into the air.

Suddenly, Arthur fell, a pair of strong arms pulling him to the ground. "Idiot! What were you thinking?"

"Francis? Zat you? Did I die?"

"No, dumbass, it's not Francis. It's me!"

"Francis, you… you look… funny. When didya get glasses?"

"Wow. How drunk are you?"

"Who's drunk?"

A groan. "Nevermind. I didn't think you really wanted to die! Fuck, what were you thinking?"

"…Yer not Francis…"

"No shit I'm not." Silence, then Arthur felt himself being lifted up.

"Hey, leggo!"

"Quiet. Someone's coming." Arthur felt himself carried to somewhere dark. "Great. They're looking for us now. If we're caught… well, you'll be fine, but I'm not supposed to be here. Shit."

Arthur could hear yelling in German and dogs barking, making him start breaking out of his drunken stupor. "Bloody hell," he whispered. "I need to get back to-"

"You're sobering up. Good. Can you run?"

"I- I think s..." Arthur's eyes started closing. "…Sleepy…"

"Shit! Don't' fall asleep on me!" The man shook Arthur's limp body. "Shit! Shit-shit-shit!"

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><p><strong>Glossary:<strong>

_olad'yi:_Russian yogurt pancake

_Lass mich endlich in Ruhe_!: Leave me the hell alone

_Sprichst du Englisch_?: Do you speak English (casual)

_Ich ziehe es vor_: I prefer it

_Barkeeper_: bartender

_Zwei Spiegeleier mit Brot, bitte_: Two fried eggs with bread, please

_Kaffee:_ coffee

_Nein. Ale._: No. Ale.

**A/N:** I'll update soon! :D Don't you just love Alfred (yes, the glasses guy is totally him!) I hope I've written him right. :) Please review!

*****Thanks to MelodyOfStarshine for helping with the German!*****


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks for all the faves, watches and alerts, guys! :) It makes me happy to know that at least some people like this. :) And I finally figured out how to put in line breaks. DX I fail at life.

This is a kind of short chapter. Some funniness at first, then it gets serious again. Enjoy! ^^

Also, the majority of the first part is all dialogue, since Arthur refuses to open his eyes, and he's relying on sound and touch.

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><p>"Well, good morning!" said a vaguely familiar voice, much too loudly.<p>

Raising a hand to his throbbing head, Arthur opened his eyes, immediately regretting it. He shut them tightly. The light was like bullets to his eyes- bullets! Something about bullets, and dogs?

"Where- where am I? Who are you?" Arthur's voice came out like a whisper. _Am I being tortured?_ Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. If he was being tortured, they were doing a very good job.

"The guy who saved your life twice yesterday." The smug voice was still too loud. Oh yes, that irritating Yank on the… bridge?

"Shut up… bloody American…" Something about a wall, the American came back at the wall? _Ugh, I don't want to think… it hurts too much…_

"It's Alfred. You know, I've always wondered why-"Arthur stopped paying attention. Why was he so loud? Arthur tried to roll over on the bed or couch or whatever he was lying on, but fell off and onto the floor.

"Bloody hell…" Arthur felt like just lying on the floor, but it was cold and hard and he had to go to the loo but he felt like he would die if he moved and his stomach was about to release its contents and the light wouldn't go away and the stupid American wouldn't shut up!

"… And that's how come I like the color green. Whoa, why are you on the floor?"

"Toilet- I need a toilet," groaned Arthur, his body curled into the fetal position.

"Alfred! What are you doing?" Arthur winced at the sudden noise. Matthew? "Oh, sorry," the voice whispered gently to Arthur. "My brother is an idiot sometimes." Yes, definitely Matthew. Not torture then. "Stop antagonizing him!" Matthew hissed. "Seriously! The poor man is hung over, and he tried to kill himself twice yesterday! The least you could do is let him rest!" _I tried to kill myself twice yesterday?_ "Here, you said you had to use the toilet, right?" Matthew grabbed his arm, and started to pull him up.

"No… leave me alo-" Arthur's stomach churned and he felt acid in his mouth. "Yes! Yes, I need a toilet! Or a wastebasket." He felt himself dragged to his feet, a hand on his side.

"Wow, you're heavy!" Arthur winced again at the loud voice. "Whoops, sorry!" Matthew whispered in apology as he helped Arthur limp out of the room. "How did you carry him back here?" he called back to his brother.

The American- Albert or something- laughed, causing Arthur to go weak at the knees, Matthew struggling to keep him up. "Shut up… please, shut up…"' he groaned.

"I help, da?" The Russian, Ivan? He felt himself picked up again, bridal style, just like in the rain… Why had he been in the rain?

"Uh, how about, no, commie?"

Matthew sighed. "He's not a communist, Alfred. I already explained this to you."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Here, I'll carry him."

"If you say so." Arthur almost fell, but was caught.

"Be careful- Don't drop him!" Matthew again.

A grunt. "How _did_ I carry you here?"

"Toilet… hurry." Arthur felt something come up his throat. "Too late-"

And he vomited.

Then he passed out.

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><p>When Arthur woke up, he felt a bit better. Not great, he still had a headache and the very thought of food made him queasy, but he could open his eyes and it didn't hurt to move quite so much. He felt almost naked for some reason, but not cold, since he was covered in blankets. He blinked a few times to adjust to the light, sat up in the bed, pulled back the covers, then looked down at himself. He was wearing just the black and green boxers he had put on the day before. <em>What happened? <em>The last thing he remembered was throwing up everywhere. He glanced around the room. It looked like he was in his room at Yellow House. He had no idea what time it was.

He put his feet down gingerly on the floor. He flinched at how cold the floor was, but he was able to stand up. He walked over to the dresser, supporting himself with one hand, and opened a drawer. He rifled through it, looking for a t-shirt or a sweater of some kind- it was freezing in the room. He found a navy pullover and some pajama bottoms and slipped them on. He opened the top drawer, looking for socks, preferably thick woolen ones. Suddenly his hand brushed against something smooth and cold. He pulled it out of the drawer. A gun.

Everything came back to him. The wall, the drinking, the bridge. Francis. Arthur forgot his headache, forgot how cold it was, and stared at the gun. It was just like the one he had used to kill Francis. Arthur picked it up, examining it. He brought it slowly to his eyes, then, as if in a trance, brought the barrel to his mouth, surrounding the barrel with his lips. _Third time's the-_

A bang. But not the gun- The door.

The American- Al something- bounced in, holding a tray. "Mattie said you might like some tea, so- Oh no you don't!"

There was a crash of breaking china and the rattling of a falling metal tray, then Arthur found himself on the floor, his arms pinned down above his head by the American. The gun spun on the floor, knocked from his hand. He stared up in shock.

"I'm not going to let you kill yourself now! I risked my life to save you, and no way in hell are you going to just die on me!" Al-whatever glared at him, his mouth set in a scowl.

Arthur simply stared. He heard footsteps, running. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matthew and Ivan. "What happened?" he heard Matthew ask. Matthew's brother did not reply, but instead, continued to glower at Arthur, never breaking eye contact, his breath slightly shaky.

Arthur blinked at the man who had him pinned. _Who is he?_

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><p><strong>AN 2: **I've never had a hangover before (I don't drink), so I'm unsure it Arthur's sounded convincing. I hope you liked it either way. :) Please review, and thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Hola! Estoy escribiendo en español para ver si los puedo distraer. Les pido mil disculpas por haber tardado tanto en escribir este capítulo. Espero que me perdonen! :( Y si hablo español en la vida real.

I don't think my distraction worked… Anyway, so super sorry for the late update, people (if any of you are still reading this). I was gone for a trip and then my luggage was lost and I forgot what I was going to write and homework and the power went out and my room was messy and… Okay, no excuses, I just suck. (But that all really happened!) So, a thousand apologies. If you still want to read this, I will love you forever!

Same old, same old, please, please, please review, if you get a chance, and, as always, I greatly appreciate your faves and alerts. :) Reviews keep me going and they let me know I don't totally suck! :D

BTW thanks for reviewing the last chapter, Kristina- I'd reply via PM, but you leave anonymous reviews, so I won't be able to tell you how come Alfred likes the color green. ;D

Anyway, here's the chappie. I hope it came out okay.

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><p>Yellow light exuded from a single, dusty bulb on the ceiling, highlighting the scene below. The room was silent. The spilled tea's creeping fingers slowly made their way across the tile floor, settling into the grooves and forming their own pattern. There was no other movement save for the steady and slow rise and fall of the four men's torsos as they breathed in and out. All eyes lay on Arthur, whose own green orbs were widened in shock. However, his initial surprise quickly morphed into anger, his hands uselessly curling into fists above his shoulders.<p>

How dare this… this boy, of all people, try and decide what he, Arthur, did with his life? The audacity!

Anger aside, Arthur began to analyse the situation. His arms were pinned, his legs in an impractical position. There was no way he could simply push the surprisingly strong American off- he'd have to fight dirty. Arthur glanced quickly at the gun, which lay less than 2 metres away. Okay, he could this. Now he just needed an opportu- perfect.

Stupidly, the American had followed his gaze, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, then widening in comprehension as Arthur arched his back- the youth turning his head back quickly, all of this happening as if in slow motion. The American tried to duck his head, but it was too late- Arthur's forehead crashed into his nose. The youth's grip on Arthur's shoulders loosened as his eyes welled with instinctual tears. Hurriedly, Arthur swung his right leg over one of the youth's, grabbed an elbow and spun him off, then rolled away towards the gun, blinking rapidly to make the stars swirling behind his eyelids vanish. He reached for the gun, which was only a foot away, but came short. The American had grabbed his legs in a bear hug.

"Mattie!" yelled the youth frantically, his glasses skewed. "The gun! Don't let him get the-" his yell became a choked gasp as Arthur managed to land a blow on his neck with a bare foot. Arthur scrambled for the gun, his fingers brushing the grip. He had it!

Suddenly, the gun went spinning, kicked away by a black boot. Arthur glared upwards at Matthew who, looking confused, but determined, easily sidestepped out of the way of Arthur's swing.

Ivan calmly picked up the gun and pocketed it. He turned to Arthur, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Now, now. We must not make rash decisions." He walked over to Arthur, bent down and, smiling, extended a hand toward Arthur, who scowled back. "Come, we talk, da?"

Feigning defeat, Arthur sighed and took the hand, pushed himself into a kneeling position and stood up. Immediately, he pushed himself into Ivan's side, took the gun out of Ivan's pocket, grabbed Ivan's belt and bent down, trying to flip the Russian over his shoulder- after all, larger people are easier to flip then they are to fight off. Instead of being thrown, Ivan blocked the movement with his hip and twisted Arthur's arm behind his back, causing the gun to fall from his hand. Arthur cried out as Ivan pushed his knee into the back of his leg. In a matter of a few seconds, Arthur was on the floor, made immobile by the Russian man.

"Bad idea, Mr. Kirkland. I don't want to hurt you, but if you try something again, I will." Arthur struggled uselessly against the larger man.

Frustrated, he yelled. "God damn it! Not one of you knows me! Why can't you all just leave me the hell alone?" He felt his eyes wet and cursed under his breath. Wonderful. Not only was he pinned to the floor again, but he was sopping wet with tea, his headache had gotten infinitely worse with the headbutt earlier, and now, he was crying. Pathetic.

Matthew looked at Arthur with concern and turned to Alfred. "Um, what exactly happened here?" Alfred struggled to get up, one hand holding his nose. He opened his mouth to speak then cleared his throat. "Well… he tried to kill himself again because _someone,_" Alfred glared at Ivan, "left a gun in his sock drawer."

"Why do you look at me?" Ivan asked.

"Look at the freaking gun, commie! It's a Makarov. A goddamn Makarov!"

Ivan picked it up with one hand, the other still holding onto Arthur, and examined the gun. "So it is. But why do you suspect me?" He glared at the American boy. Alfred groaned in frustration, still holding his nose.

"Because, you dam-"

"Both of you stop!" Matthew cried out. "Is this really the best time to be arguing about something like this? There are more important things to worry about."

"You know, Mattie, you're right." Alfred looked at Arthur, who had apparently ignored the exchange to study the puddle of tea. "Sorry, but I can ask the two of you to leave?" Matthew opened his mouth to protest. "Go, it'll be fine. You have to leave for your next project right? You're already behind schedule- you need to go. We can catch up later." Matthew nodded quietly and left, Ivan hesitantly following behind him. Arthur's arms fell forward as Ivan released them. Arthur scooted to the wall behind him and drew his knees up, hugging them. He refused to make eye contact with Alfred.

"So, uh, that was a good hit. I think you mighta broken my nose. KFM? Betcha picked it up when you were in Spain, right?"

Arthur tensed, but still didn't say anything. _How does he know that?_

"I 'spose you aren't gonna tell me anything, huh?" Alfred stooped down to Arthur's level. When he gave no response, Alfred sighed and sat down, crossed legged, avoiding the puddle of tea. "Hmm. Hey, wanna know something? I betcha think it's weird that Mattie and me and are brothers, since he's Canadian." Again, he paused to gauge Arthur's reaction. Though Arthur didn't show any sign of paying attention, he inwardly acknowledged that _yes, it is strange_. _And it really should be 'Mattie and I', not 'Mattie and me'. And 'suppose', 'going to', 'want to' and 'bet you'._ But of course, he didn't say anything.

"He's actually older than me, by like a year." Arthur blinked. He could have sworn Matthew was the younger of the two. "Yeah, doesn't look like it, huh? Anyway, I was… four, I think, when our parents split. Dad took Mattie back to Canada, and I stayed with mom in the States. I lived in New York for a while and then we moved to Cali when I was 15. I learned a bit of Italian and German in New York, and then some Chinese in Cali. Came in handy."

Alfred paused again, and Arthur glanced up quickly, then turned back again. Alfred smiled, pretending not to have noticed. "Mattie wrote me a few letters when I was in New York, but I guess I forgot to give him an address for Cali. We met up again later, on a mission, actually, in- well, that's still classified, I think. But it was weird, seeing him again, all grown up. And with a Canadian accent. How about you? Got any family?"

"… just a few older brothers…" Arthur felt Alfred staring at him. _Bollocks, did I say that aloud?_ Alfred leaned forward and kept looking at Arthur expectantly. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Alfred sighed and leaned back. He stood up and walked over to the sock drawer Arthur had left open. Rummaging around for a few seconds, Alfred pulled out a pair of socks, thick black ones, and tossed them at Arthur. Arthur caught them with one hand, and stared at them for a second.

"Why?" croaked Arthur.

"You were shiv-" Arthur cut him off.

"No, I mean, why… why did you save me?" The hand holding the socks was shaking now. "Three times…" Alfred came back and sat in front of Arthur again.

"I don't think it's fair for people to throw their lives away when so many other are dying for a chance at a better one." Arthur looked up as Alfred's tone sounded a bit angry. "The whole reason I joined the APIA was to help Eastern Europe get freedom back. _You_ have freedom. _You_ have the opportunity to help other people be _free_, and you decide to throw it away? People in Soviet Russia and all the communist countries are suffering, but they keep living, hoping. It's not right for you to just jeopardize their chance at a better life. It's damn selfish, if you ask me."

Arthur finally met Alfred's eyes, anger building up. "Selfish? I-I-I'm selfish? Do you know what I've gone through here? This stupid organization has-"

"Yeah, yeah, bad stuff happened, I get it, I know. I'm not exactly happy with APIA either. But guess what? It's our duty to help these people. They can't do it for themselves. You just need to suck it up and focus on the mission. We need to help all these people be free!" Alfred glared at Arthur for a second. Arthur didn't answer, Alfred broke off his stare and silence filled the room again.

"So, uh, now that you're talking again…" Alfred said more quietly, remembering that Arthur had tried to kill himself several times, and probably needed to vent a bit. "Wanna tell me about Francis?"

Arthur looked up, glaring, and dropped his arms, scooting away. "That's none of your business."

Alfred pressed on, scooting forward. "Actually, it-"

"Personal. Matter. Drop it."

"I'm telling you, I actually ne-"

"Alfred. Let. It. Go. I know this makes me a liability for APIA. I'll ask for leave when my de-briefer gets here." Alfred sighed loudly, exasperated.

"That's just it. That's me."

Arthur stared at Alfred. "What?"

"I'm your guy." Arthur stared.

Alfred sighed again. "A bit slow, aren't ya? I was sent here to debrief you."

"Oh. Damn."

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><p><strong>AN:** And that's where I'm stopping it, for now. Yay. Please review if you can! I might be inspired to update tomorrow!;)

Okay, no way in hell that's happening, but I'll definitely be more motivated, so I'll write the chapter quicker, which will, in turn, make me update sooner! :D


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